


Galaxies Collide

by Quiddity



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Altean Lance (Voltron), Arranged Marriage, Galra Shiro (Voltron), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 09:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11033316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiddity/pseuds/Quiddity
Summary: Well, his father never had to be married off to a stranger. He got the same privilege Allura and all other first born royalty got; a marriage to another member of Altean nobility after a long and careful courting. Second born on all got these stupid blind marriages. It was just an exercise in politics. Allura got to marry someone she got along with and genuinely cared about. She would be the happy royal family and the face of Altea. Lance was just being shoveled off onto some horny Galra officer to be forgotten about or toted around as a trophy.





	Galaxies Collide

**Author's Note:**

> This is a giveaway fic for neroligrimm on tumblr. Asked for arranged marriage Shance and yes! I've always wanted to write an arranged marriage fic.

Lance had always loved his bedroom. It was nice and big, with some of the highest ceilings in the castle. Huge windows framed either side of his bed and there was nothing better than sleeping in and letting the bright light of Altea’s two suns warm him while he’s wrapped up in his blankets, a huge bed all to himself. 

It had been like this for years, Lance just living his life happily, and while Lance had been more and more involved in royal affairs over the past several years, he hadn’t had any  _ massive  _ changes in his routines. But that’s all going to change in a few days. 

Lance uncovers his eyes and looks to the empty space in the bed next to him. His whole life, this bed had a place all to his own. A sanctuary of sorts. But in a few days, his fiance would arrive with a fleet of Galra and his life as the single, carefree, beautiful prince of Altea would be over. 

The only thing he’d been promised about this entire ordeal was that his fiance would be a Galra officer. Not a noble, Lance noted, so at least he knew he wasn’t getting hitched to Lotor, but that hardly narrowed down the possibilities. For all he knew, Lance could be getting hitched to an old man and Lance would be a widow within five years. Or some hulking, ugly warrior who wouldn’t think twice about pushing him around and taking up all the space in his life. Or worst of all, Lance thinks, a chill going through him. The guy would be a  _ creep  _ and expect Lance to just strip down and hop into bed with him. 

Lance tries to imagine someone else in this bed with him. Someone who would probably be too hot, and fuzzy, and complaining about all the light in the room and demanding Lance cover up all the windows with heavy curtains because he was  _ Galra  _ of course he would. Any Galra would hate all his favorite things and demand he change them. 

Lance is pouting at the empty pillows beside him when he hears the door open and the familiar footsteps of his older sister, Allura. He ignores her, and she says nothing in return, instead plucking up another pillow that had been kicked to the foot of the bed through the night and slapping it over his head, blocking out all the light. 

“Sis, I can’t do this,” Lance moans, his voice muffled under the pillow. “This guy is gonna come in and ruin my life, I just know it.” He feels the pressure of Allura’s hand on his cheek as she climbs onto the bed with him. She pulls the pillow off and ruffles her fingers through his hair. 

“He’s not going to ruin your life, Lance. I’m sure you’ll like him more than you know,” Allura sighs, long suffering. She’s heard this all before and no doubt she’s more than tired of it. It doesn’t deter Lance in the least. 

“That’s easy for you to say. You’ve already met him,” Lance sighs. Allura, being one of the people who knew him the best, had been on the committee (for  _ his  _ marriage!) in charge of combing through Lance’s suitors and choosing the best match. While Lance trusted her completely to find him a good partner, what if none of the choices were that great? What if Allura and the others searching on his behalf just had to make the best of a bad batch? “Can’t you tell me even just one thing about him?” Lance asks hopefully, even though he’s probably asked her a million times over the past couple of months. 

“Well,” Allura says, flopping onto the bed next to him. She wraps one arm around his chest and rests her head on his shoulder affectionate. “He’s Galra, he’s a decorated officer, and I think you’ll like him quite a bit.” Lance whines irritably. 

“None of that’s new! Tell me something else about him. How old is he? What’s he look like? Is he weird?” 

“You know I can’t tell you any of that! It’s for the good of your marriage, Lance. You have to trust them to give you someone you’ll love,” Allura huffs. She sits up, grabs a fistful of the blanket at Lance’s chest and tugs it off him. “Now come on. You have a whole list of things you have to sort out today and you’ve slept in late enough as it is.” Allura presses her hands to his side and shoves him firmly towards the edge of the bed, nearly toppling him out of it. Lance sighs, and drags himself out of bed. 

Just as he thought, it turns out to be another day filled with ribbons and flowers and soft, colorful fabrics. Noise and people crowding around him and  _ no, for the last time, he does not care if his garter is lilac or lavender his fiance probably can’t tell the difference anyways.  _ Can’t any of these people remember after the the fiftieth time asking the same question?

Lance growls at himself in the mirror, still bristling from the conversation he’d just had with his father out in the hallway. “You’re not behaving like a prince of Altea,” Lance mocks himself, unclipping his cloak in a tangle of shaking fingers. “You’re getting married in a few days. What will your fiance think when he arrives and sees you snapping at the staff?” Lance pouts, his cheeks burning in anger and embarrassment. “It isn’t just about you. Don’t forget, this is for the relationship between all Alteans and all Galra.” 

Ugh, he  _ knows  _ that, but his patience can only be worn so thin with a hundred people breathing down his neck every second of every day. And Alfor always scolded him in that quiet way like he wasn’t  _ mad  _ and like he  _ understood completely  _ but it wasn’t the same! Lance pulls his shirt off in a flurry, thinks about tossing it to the floor in irritation, but instead takes a deep breath and calmly drapes it over the back of a chair. 

Well, his father never had to be married off to a stranger. He got the same privilege Allura and all other first born royalty got; a marriage to another member of Altean nobility after a long and careful courting. Second born on all got these stupid blind marriages. Lance huffs and steps out of his pants as well, tossing them over the back of the chair. It was just an exercise in politics. Allura got to marry someone she got along with and genuinely cared about. She would be the happy royal family and the face of Altea. Lance was just being shoveled off onto some horny Galra officer to be forgotten about or toted around as a trophy.

A handful of days, and his life would change dramatically. Every day, he would have this  _ stranger  _ with him, following him around, wanting to get to know him, their lives and cultures smashing together like two speeding galaxies. Lance turns and looks out the windows framing his bed. So late at night, but the gardens around the castle are glowing. Well, they always glowed, the long spindly leaves of the willows were always a soft blue light against the night sky, but now the entire wing of the castle shimmered with wedding decorations.

Lance steps up to the window for a closer view, frowning down into the high walled gardens. If he had had his choice, he would have wanted to get married in the main hall. But someone else had decided that the gardens would be the best for a summer wedding, and Lance had never been asked. And purple! He would have never picked purple on his own. He didn’t like purple, and yet not only was his fiance covered in purple fur, but some sort of committee decided to decorate  _ everything  _ in purple. They were going to lose the entire Galra half of the guests!

But no one cared. Nobody cared. They just wanted to make a good show for the actual day and then Lance was on his own. It was totally up to him to get along with a new stranger in his bed and attached to his hip. It didn’t matter if he didn’t  _ like  _ the guy. It didn’t matter if he were kind, or handsome, or smart or any more interested in Lance than Lance was with him. 

Yet they were expected to convince the universe that they were living happily ever after for the next eight hundred years. 

A cold, hard feeling rushes over him. Something just under his skin that settles like a stone in his belly. No. He won’t do that. He won’t let himself be pushed around, his life decided for him. He had so long, so many things he wanted to do, so many dreams of finding the right person to share them with and being pinned down like this went against everything he knew about himself. He couldn’t do this. 

He  _ wouldn’t  _ do this. 

Lance turns, pulls open his closet and instead of pajamas he pulls out a small traveling case and starts packing. He doesn’t know where he’ll go, or how long he’ll be gone, but he’ll figure that out as he goes. He just can’t stay here.

* * *

 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the taste of nunvil,” Shiro coughs. Taking a long swallow now had been an effort to clear his glass for something more palatable, but instead it had turned into a harrowing few seconds trying not to spit it across the table and into Keith’s liquor. Honestly, Alteans had to have a completely different set of tastebuds to choke this stuff down. It was traditionally served at a gross lukewarm temperature and while it had the same burn as other alcohols, the stuff was  _ savory _ !

“You better get used to drinking cold sausages,” Keith warns, nursing at his own drink. Shiro eyes the smooth liquor enviously. “It wouldn’t be a very good first impression to spit in your new husband’s face before you even get a chance to honeymoon.” 

Shiro growls and Keith smirks against the rim of his glass. “It’s easy for you to say. You’re not getting carted off to Altea on short notice.” 

Keith must see the slump in Shiro’s shoulders because he sets his glass down and reaches across the table to tweak one of Shiro’s ears. “At least I’m not getting married off to royalty? Man, what do you have to complain about?” 

“Everything,” Shiro huffs, flicking one tufted ear out of reach of Keith’s claws. He counts off on his fingers: “I’ll be even more involved in politics than before, lots of being in the public eye, I won’t know anyone there, not even my  _ husband  _ mind you,” he drops his hand to the table because honestly, it’s too much to count out at once. “What if he doesn’t like me? What if he sees me as just some stranger? What if I scare him? Or he finds this disgusting?” Shiro motions to his prosthetic arm, then to the scar across his nose. Both remnants or a mission gone bad a few years past. “Are the going to expect children or can we just be friends?” 

“You love politics,” Keith starts back, “They’ll love you. You’ll make new friends. The Altean committee was keeping your fiance in mind when they picked you. And those things are something to be proud of! They show that you’re strong, okay?” Keith says, his voice softening at the end because he’s had give that reassurance more than once. He huffs, purposefully brightens his tone. “ And they’re gonna want kids,” Keith says. Nodding sagely like he’s actually being any help at all. “You know, symbol of a happy marriage and all.” Shiro gives up on the nunvil, pushing the cup to the side and resting his arms on the table instead. 

“I’m not even ready to settle in with anybody yet, much less even think about kids. And now I have a week to sort all of that out and say goodbye to everything here.”

“You’ll see us sometimes,” Keith says.  

“Maybe once or twice a year at the Alliance Councils. I don’t think they’ll let us loose anymore, Keith,” Shiro says.  Keith rolls his eyes, grabs Shiro’s glass and knocks back the rest of the nunvil in one go. He sneers, licks his lips, his nose wrinkled tightly as he fills Shiro’s glass with the smooth liquor they both preferred. 

“How long have you got left? A week?” Keith asks. He pushes the glass across the table and Shiro takes it gladly, and even though it still has the hint of nunvil to it, it’s so much better. 

“More like five days,” Shiro mutters. 

“Take off for a couple of them then. You’ve got Black on the ship, don’t you? Fleet’s making a stop the Irodian moons in a few hours,” Keith points out the window where  the outermost planet in a nearby solar system is just coming into view. “You’ve been talking about checking it out ever since we first made the trip to Altea.” Shiro looks on at the massive red planet, thinks about the six moons he knows are orbiting around it. He always has wanted to take the time to search around one or two. He’d heard all sorts of things about them. Geysers of liquid nitrogen, beautiful planetrises, chunks of shining crystal bigger than himself. 

“Come with me,” Shiro says.  Keith’s ears perk up so sharply they ruffle his hair, surprised that Shiro’s accepted his suggestion so quickly. “Really,” Shiro presses. “I can’t stand to stay here and dread every second I have left before I’m tucked away in some happy Altean neighborhood and never allowed to leave again.” Keith recovers and smiles, but he shakes his head. 

“No, I’m staying right here. Someone has to cover for you, otherwise there’ll a manhunt after both of us. You can afford to get in a little bit of trouble because you’re about to be out of our fur. Me? I have to go back to work,” Keith says. He stands, and when Shiro knocks back the last of his drink he takes both their glasses with him. “Now, I’m going to my room to take a nap and I wake up, I better have no idea where you are.”

The next morning Shiro leans against the side of Black, his single person craft painted the same glossy color as its namesake. It’s the beginning of his second day since he’d snuck out and sleep clings around his eyes. His back is stiff from sleeping in the the cramped seat of his craft but he had thought to pack a couple MRE’s before he left and there was just something cathartic and viscerally pleasing about sitting on a cold sand dune and watching the dark horizon. 

The planetrise was… amazing. There was no better way to describe it. Irod was a gigantic red presence on beyond a range of distant mountains, rising like a dark, nearby sun and filling up the sky. The planet was close enough that he could see vague, wispy swirls of purple clouds. On the surface those would be devastating hurricanes working their way across the ocean, but from here, it was almost calming, the whole thing moving slow enough from his perspective that he could admire the shape. 

Something like this was a treat even in his everyday life. He rarely got enough leave to do anything more than catch up on sleep, and they were always much less likely to stop anywhere remotely interesting. On Altea, after he married, he could totally forget about doing anything like this again. 

Shiro sighs, takes a deep swallow of his water ration. This was the end of it then. He couldn’t be a bachelor anymore. He couldn’t take Black out and just enjoy the scenery. Not even seeing what the universe had to offer at a glance while the fleet traveled. From now on it would be all about the public image. He’d be the Galra husband of a Altean nobility. He’d have to always be prim and polite. Get used to those tight fitting suits and uptight traditions the Alteans kept in the name of diplomacy. 

But he supposed he could get used to that eventually. Enough years and Altean habits would become his own. His fiance being a massive question mark was something a little harder to swallow. Sure, the Altean marriage committee had chosen him, but he was still questioning that decision. He’d only been tossed into the list of potential mates at the last minute. He wasn’t noble. He wasn’t  _ that  _ high ranked as an officer. He was respectable, but not impressive. Especially after losing an arm. He was pretty sure he was only offered partly out of pity for him and mostly because of his good looks aside from his scars and his reputation for having a somewhat mild temperament.

What if his fiance didn’t care about him? What if he didn’t like him? Shiro sets his mug to the side and flops onto his back with a huff. What if he didn’t have anything to do with him? He had always imagined himself finding someone cute and smart and completely compatible with him. He had expected to marry for love; a blind arranged set up like this was against everything he had ever wanted. 

Shiro digs his claws into the sand. Was it really worth it? The Alteans and Galra had arranged marriages every handful of years. Their alliance wouldn’t fall apart over one marriage, would it?

Oh, it was selfish of him to think like this. But... Maybe if he’d had more than a couple months to prepare. Maybe if he had been allowed to meet his fiance in the first place. Maybe if he wouldn’t have to give up the best parts of his life to share a bed with a complete stranger. 

Shiro watches as the planet rises completely above the horizon, the slow spinning storm going on and on so far away. This sight was amazing, beautiful, there was nothing quite like watching a force of nature from afar, alone in his own thoughts, free to just enjoy the sights without pressure to move at anything but his own pace. 

He couldn’t give this freedom up. If he went back to the fleet, he’d been married off and left of his own devices within a few days. If he didn’t, what was he giving up? Keith was his only family but there were plenty of ways to keep in touch with him. Maybe if he kept tabs on what was going on he could come back later and keep his skin. 

Was it worth the trouble? Did he want his freedom so badly he’d be willing to ditch a noble wedding and undo so much work?

Behind him, his comm beeps in Black’s cockpit. Shiro turns his head up, thinks about answering it, but before he gets around to it he hears the familiar click of disconnection and a trill letting him know whoever tried to contact him tried to leave a message. Shiro rolls over, stands, and leans in through the open top of Black to hit the playback button on his radio. 

“Hey,” Keith starts. “Leaving a message because I’m pretty sure you’re still busy but you need to hear it before you come back and find everyone in a fit. We just established communications with Altea and,” Keith sighs, clearly tired. “Your fiance apparently decided to run off a day or so ago. They can’t find him, so for the time being your wedding’s delayed until we can track him down.” 

Shiro stares wide-eyed at the radio as he plays the message again, and then a third time. His fiance had run away? How...convenient, that he was just thinking the same thing. Shiro licks his lips nervously as he gathers his things and tosses them into the cockpit, jumping in himself and turning the craft on. Well, it was clear they were thinking the same thing, so why not? 

He had some time to kill now.

* * *

 

He had never actually been to a bar before. Well, he had never really done a  _ lot  _ of things. He figured that out the first time he had docked his personal craft at a public hangar, only to find the sleek vehicle had been stolen in the time it took him to pop into a mall and buy supplies. 

In two weeks he had done a lot of things. He’d bought a new cruiser: a little junker no one would even take a second glance at. He’d seen places and shops and people he’d never imagined. How freeing it had been to simply go into a mall and look around the wares to his heart’s content! No having everything delivered to him. No worries about keeping to the royal colors, styles and quality. He could just choose what he wanted.

When he traveled, he loved turning on the news in his cruiser while he traveled.There…. There was so much going on. The Alteans prided themselves on being the diplomats of the universe but two weeks out from Altea and he’d already learned more about current events than he’d been told in all the years since he’d come of age. He’d pawned off all the belongings he’d packed. Now he was simply a wayward Altean going wherever his whims took him, and he reveled in the feeling of everyone treating him as an equal instead of royalty. 

If he had to be honest, he’d only stopped at this bar for the brightly lit signs hanging outside. Two tall glasses, liquid sloshing out of them as they clink together and whole thing illuminated in a myriad of colors. All it took was something bright to draw him in, and Lance was more than happy to exercise his newfound freedom. 

So here he was lingering at the edge of a dance floor, standing between two stools and his back nearly pressed to a high bar running the length of the room and tangling his fingers in front of his stomach as he looked on at the mass of people packed on the floor. He’d squished into the scant space in the back of his cruiser and changed into something he had bought purely on a whim. The attendant at the clothing shop a few days ago had tossed it over the door of his fitting room, gushing about how it would look just  _ perfect  _ on him. Lance still didn’t know what about him said that a pair tight fitting white shorts and a soft blue top would look perfect, but well. He’d  _ really  _ liked it in the fitting room. 

But now his nerves were catching up to him. The shorts fit a little too snugly at the juncture of his thighs and the top wasn’t so much something to wear as something to hang off his shoulders. It moved entirely too much against his skin when he moved and the cool air in the bar tickled up his belly and he was  _ cold _ !

Dancing with the others would probably sort that out pretty quickly, but so would going back to his ship and changing into something a little more respectable. But maybe someone would notice. And everyone else was dressed just as skimpy as he was…

“You alright?”

Lance flinches back, crossing his arms tight across his stomach. A Galra is there right next to him, a bottle of deep red liquor in each hand. Lance shivers, takes a step back because  _ oh God he’s going to recognize me and now everyone is going to know I skipped out on my own wedding only for this rando to find me dressed like this in a club.  _

The Galra’s fuzzy ears twitch and stiffen, clearly just as surprised at Lance’s reaction as Lance is at being found out. He mutters something, reaches out and sets both his bottles on the bar by Lance’s shoulder before he turns back to him. He lifts his hand, one Lance notices is a metal prosthetic, almost like he’s going to touch Lance. Then he hesitates and drops it again. 

“Sorry! I was going to ask if you were cold, but you look nervous. Are you okay?” the Galra asks. Lance waits a beat to answer, looking this newcomer over for any hint of recognition. Purple, lightly furred skin, yellow eyes, fangs and claws and large, expressive ears with little white tufts at the tips. Tall enough that Lance came up just below his shoulder. All details rather par for the course for Galra. The prosthetic was something for Lance to wander over, as well as the wide scar across his nose. Both signs that he had seen battle before. But instead of seeming grizzled and harsh, the softness around his eyes that gave him a kinder, more open look than Lance found in most Galra.

He was...handsome, especially when his ears tugged back a little when he started getting nervous and he offers Lance a sheepish smile. 

“I’m okay,” Lance sighs. He has goosebumps on his skin, but he forces himself to uncross his arms. His fingers find their way to the hem of his shorts for nothing else to occupy themselves and the Galra glances down at the motion just long enough for him to catch himself and Lance to flush. “I’ve never been to a place like this. I don’t quite know what to do.”

“I would think you would dance, but to be honest, I’ve never been to a place like this either,” the guy admits. He helps himself up onto one of the stools, apologizing quietly when his knee brushes Lance’s hip. “I came here to drink something,” he pops open one of the bottles, considers the other, then nudges it down the bar towards Lance. “I’ve been traveling a lot lately and I thought it would help me sleep. I didn’t realize this was a more...lively place.” 

“I did,” Lance says, pushing up onto the other stool. The Galra motions to the bottle, offering, and Lance considers, thinking back on the hard rules of taking drinks from strangers, but the cap is still sealed and the Galra sips at his own and well, maybe a drink would loosen him up. He opens the bottle and when he sips at it, he finds that it’s tart and spicier than he had expected. Another sip and he politely puts the cap back on, the spice still clinging to his lips when he licks them. “I just lost my nerve I guess. And I’m cold.” 

“I think the cold is for the sake of everyone out there,” he says, pointing towards the crowd. “Shiro, by the way,” he says. He reaches out again and now he actually does touch Lance, gripping him just above his elbow, a casual show of friendliness. Lance has dealt with Galra a lot in his life; their civilizations were close and, when the wedding was on the horizon, a lot of them had been hanging around the castle. This is a rather intimate gesture, as Galra don’t typically want to touch strangers unless they're exceedingly friendly. This guys must be a sweetheart then. Lance returns it, feeling firm, warm muscle under Shiro’s sleeve. 

“Uh, I’m-” Lance briefly considers coming up with a fake name, but if the guy hasn’t recognized him so far, then he’s not going to now. “I’m Lance.” Shiro’s brows raise in surprise. Lance’s heart jumps up into his throat and over the next second or so he imagined Shiro tossing him over his shoulder and hauling him back to Altea against his will. But Shiro only smiles. 

“What brought you out here if you’ve never passed by before?” Shiro asks. Lance shrugs, and when he hesitates for too long Shiro offers up an answer to his own question. “To be honest I’m skipping out on some rather important work.”

“That’s not very good,” Lance laughs, just because Shiro’s answer catches him off guard. All Galra he’d ever met seemed uptight and slightly aggressive. Always stiff and strictly adhering to their own countless military rules. To see this one skipping out in favor of a couple drinks… it was refreshing. Lance feels he can relax a little more. He turns in his stool, plays with the cap of his own drink. “But I guess that’s exactly what I’m doing too.” Shiro’s smile widens into something conspiratorial.

“You’re telling me we’re both runaways here?” Shiro whispers as he leans in. His voice goes deep, nearly a growl because he can’t exactly whisper with a noisy crowd so close. He glances to the people behind them. Lance can’t help but buy into his teasing, leaning into this secret conversation himself. 

“I think I’m still good,” Lance teases back. “I plan on going back. At some point.” 

Shiro laughs, and the sound seems to ripple over his skin. “I plan on it too, but I have to be sure no one’s going to skin me the second I walk back onto the ship. So I’ll be gone for a while, I think.” 

“Maybe we should team up,” Lance suggests. Shiro seems like fun. He’s nice. He’s given him a drink and they have some pretty important things in common. And traveling through space on his own is more lonely than he’d thought. “It would be fun to have someone to run away with.” Shiro tips back the rest of his drink, sets the empty bottle on the bar and looks Lance over. He can feel the Galra’s eyes moving over the length of his body, but more than that he’s looking Lance in the eye. Like he’s feeling out how genuine Lance is. Like he’s actually considering it.

“Maybe we should.”

* * *

 

“Do you remember how we met?” Lance huffs, tossing his arm over his eyes. He doesn’t have to look to know exactly what Shiro looks like. He’d have this cute pout on his lips. He’d be carefully twisting the comforter in his hands because over the past three years he had shredded nearly twenty with his claws. Lance peeks between his fingers and yep. Shiro’s left ear was twitching. He was a little irritated, but Lance wasn’t nearly scared enough to hop to it. Morning meetings were always such a chore. He curls up on his side and gives Shiro one of those soft looks he knows the Galra is so weak to. “The bar? Those spicy drinks?”

“How they were 5% alcohol but you still insisted on acting like you had been doing shots?” Shiro sighs. He drops the comforter on the floor and climbs onto the bed. Lance purrs seeing him approach and rolls onto his back again to reach with both hands for him. Despite Shiro always complaining of his ears burning, the light on Altea really was favorable for him. Lance scratches him under his jaw, admiring his rich, purple color and Shiro bursts into a round of thick purring. “You were all over me within a couple days.” 

“Your chest was killing me,” Lance hums. He tugs Shiro beside him, tucks himself in under Shiro’s arm and rests his head on his chest. “I had to get it all for myself.” 

“You already had it,” Shiro says. He shifts like he wants to get up again, but then Lance wraps his arm tight around his waist and the Altean feels all the fight drain out of him. He knows it’s no use to talk Lance into royal matters when he’s in the mood to snuggle. “I’ll never really believe that not only did we both run away from our wedding, but we happened to meet in some gaudy bar.” 

Lance hums, spreads his fingers over Shiro’s broad chest. Around his wrist is a thin black chain, tiny amethysts set in along the length. Not chunky, but still reasonably sparkly for a wedding band. Shiro’s was a more understated band of titanium. He thinks about Shiro pulling them to a stop in the middle of a empty field of space after several months of traveling together, right where they had the perfect view of two galaxies colliding. A stuttered speech about how long it would take the two massive galaxies to merge into one. A comparison to Shiro’s own hopes for their relationship that took him two tries to get right. Lance bursting into tears when Shiro had clipped this delicate band around his wrist. 

“Eloping turned out to be a pretty good idea though,” Lance hums. Shiro’s still purring, a soft, calming rumbling under Lance’s ear. He feels Shiro tickle his fingers up the back of his neck, his claws brushing his nape gently enough to raise goosebumps on his skin. “Maybe I’ll recommended it to the next poor saps who get paired up for one of these blind marriages.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm quiddid on both tumblr and twitter.


End file.
